On the Wings of America
by Lionona
Summary: A girl learns the brutal repercussions of her deep affection for a certain country.
1. Chapter 1

I haven't written in a long while, so forgive me if this has mistakes. I wanted to try out writing my own OC/Country fic, and I'm still not exactly sure where to go with it, but I'm just going along as I write. I guess this is AU, but its set in the present or near future. Please enjoy!

* * *

><p>New York was the bustling city I had always imagined it would be. <em>Loud.<em> With its buildings extending beyond the sky, boisterous cars packed onto the streets, cracked pavements, and busy stores, I constantly lost myself in the crowds of people moving nonstop.

It was difficult adapting to this kind of life, as if it weren't hard enough to deal with the freedom (and pressure) of being away from home on my own for the first time! I had been told many times that I was too sheltered and I never realized how small my tranquil neighborhood in Portland, Maine really was until I came here. It was exhilarating! And at the same time, daunting. I loved the sights of the city at night, the great Statue of Liberty, and the contrast of pavement against nature in Central Park. But I often felt sick from the odd smells that crept out of the alleyways and the noise that never ceased when I tried to sleep.

I took deep breaths in the chilly, early January air as I hustled along with the busy New Yorkers, my mind set on the errands I set out to do that morning. I abruptly steadied my gait to a halt when a mouth-watering smell wafted in the air causing my stomach to growl in protest. I hadn't had lunch yet, and I suppose now would be a better time than any for lunch. I followed the entrancing scent to a nifty burger joint with the words etched onto its windows in a fancy font, "Burgers, Chicken, and Steaks: Welcome Your Taste Buds to New York City!"

It didn't take much deliberation to enter the restaurant, the scent of spices and frying meat growing stronger with each step. The place was surprising tidy and humble decorated in deep green wood paneled walls and light and dark brown checkered tiles and booths that completed the ensemble. I took a seat at one of the barstools lined up under a long counter to the right, taking in hand one of the menus laid out on the countertops and scoffing at the prices of some items.

"A burger for fifteen bucks! The nerve of this place!" I grumbled, resting my chin in my hand and compromising on water to drink instead. It wasn't long until the second seat over from me was occupied by a peppy customer—a regular, I had assumed as he was immediately greeted once he entered the store. He was a handsome, tall blonde man with an odd tuft of hair that stuck out from the part in his hair, a wide grin, and glistening blue eyes hidden behind silver frames. The man wore a brown jacket with a fur collar unzipped to show a white t-shirt with some popular brand's insignia on it; his jeans were fitting, also of a popular brand, and his shoes were a bright red. He chatted easily with the employees at the counter who seemed more than eager to serve him.

"Four hamburgers please!" He chirped excitedly, "Oooh! And three milkshakes as well!"

That explains why.

I glanced over the menu, and quietly placed my order.

He wolfed down each sandwich in nearly three gulps and proceeded to go through the milkshakes in the same manner, slurping loudly. I gazed pitifully at my half eaten burger, poking at it with a fork.

"Mmey!"

I slowly turned to the man sitting next to me staring at me with peculiar blue eyes, a straw still jabbed in his mouth as he sucked down the shake. He looked to me then the uneaten burger cut neatly the plate in front of me. He pointed at it.

"You gonna eat that?"

"N-No," I spoke nervously, shaking my head. "You can have it, if you'd like." I gently pushed the plate toward him.

"Dude! Awesome! Thanks!" He picked it up and within a fraction of a second, my poor uneaten burger vanished. The man patted his stomach with a relieved sigh. "Man! That was great!" He stood and reached down in his pants pockets, unable to find what he was looking for, then checking his jacket pockets before pulling out two crisp one-hundred dollar bills.

"It covers hers, too! Keep the change!" He waved and exited the store, the employees each bidding him farewell. And with that, he was gone. I stared dumbfounded and flustered at the unoccupied seat and placidly took a sip of water. As the employees gathered the plates and the money, the cashier turned to me and let out a low chuckle.

"How cute," he shuffled through the money in the register and re-organizing it, "You were as stiff as a board when he was next to you,"

I laughed nervously and hid my blushed face with my sleeve, "I didn't get a chance to say thanks."

"Tell him tomorrow, then." The cashier responded flatly. "He comes in here every day." He closed the register and tended to the next customer than handed him money.

I contemplated the cashier's suggestion, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Why on earth would he have an interest in a girl like me? _Ah_, wishful thinking, I sighed. I gathered my things and exited, feeling several eyes on me as I headed through the door. The icky self-consciousness dissipated with the swarm of the people as I, once again, headed along the way.

* * *

><p>The bookstore was a compact room with shelves on each wall cluttered with books from floor to ceiling.<p>

"Hello?" I called out through the store receiving no response. I wandered around aimlessly squinting at the titles of the various books, hoping to find some order within them. A sudden, loud thump sounded from the far corner of the room, startling me. Several books tumbled down off the shelf, scattering across the floor and a low audible groan crept wearily through the store.

I hurried over and quickly began moving the books, revealing an older man with gray thinning hair and thick glasses.

"Thank you, thank you!" the man clamored, exasperated as he got to his feet. He dusted off his slacks and immediately took my hands in his, shaking them vigorously. I smiled timidly at the man's gratefulness.

"Welcome to my bookstore, please! Let me help you! What is it that you need?" He held my hands still, eyes fixed intently on me.

"Just a few textbooks, please," I responded modestly, forcing myself to make eye contact, "Uh, American History and Government, Writing the Practical Argument for English, and College Algebra, please." I recited the mental list.

"Ah, wonderful, you are a college student!" He wiped around and leaned over one of the shelves, muttering to himself as he inspected it and pulled down a thick book, quickly thumbing through its pages. "American history," he headed around to the opposite end of the store and pulled down two other books on different shelves.

"I take it that you're from the college nearby. Here are all the books you need right here, in mint condition!" He smiled, handing me the books. I nodded, reaching for my bag until he stopped me, placing the books in my hands.

"You seem like a keen girl. For helping me out, it's all free of charge, please."

I blinked; my mouth agape and shock coloring my face. I pressed the books against my chest, bowing respectfully to the man.

"Thank you so much! Uh," I paused, unsure of how to address the man.

"Maurice," he responded, "Please, call me Maurice."

I nodded, clumsily holding my hand out to shake, "I'm Emily! Nice to meet you, er, Maurice."

The man chuckled, adjusting him glasses. "Don't forget to come back again, Emily!" he called as I headed to the door.

"I won't! Thanks again!"

* * *

><p>I sat in my quaint dorm, staring at the pages of text of American History and Government lit by the dim glow of my laptop screen. So dull, so difficult to read. What's the point? I enjoyed history, European history to be exact, but maybe a lack of patriotism made it more difficult to enjoy just plain <em>American<em> History. Maybe I should take up foreign languages and move to Paris or Madrid? The economy is bad enough right now. _Ugh_. Closing the cover of the book, I glanced back at the digital clock planted on my nightstand.

_11:42 PM_

I stretched and yawned, plopping down on the bed and closing my eyes.

**Patriotism _(noun)_: love for or devotion to one's country**


	2. Chapter 2

Only a few days had passed when I was finally able to work up the nerve to return to the restaurant.

"I can't believe I'm doing this right now. I can't believe I'm doing this right now." I chanted to myself in disbelief as I approached the clear glass door, reaching for the brass handle with a sweaty palm.

"Oh, dear God," I muttered breathlessly. All eyes in the restaurant shot to me as I entered and quietly shuffled over to one of the vacant barstools, droning out the sound of my heels clacking against the floor with happy thoughts. The employees took turns taking surprised glances at me like I was a completely new, foreign person. I supposed that I either looked really _good_ or really _bad_, and it seemed that the latter had to be the winning side. I fixed my eyes on the pale counter below me and adjusted my light blue blouse and short beige skirt, pulling my gray coat over my chest and tossing my dark brown curls over my shoulder. Only a few moments had passed when I dug into my bag to check the time on my phone.

_12:20 PM._

I sighed, anxiously glancing through the windows every other second. Was I too early or too late? Part of me wanted to see him; the other half was more comfortable with his absence. A sharp pain was associated with the thought of him not showing up and I shook my head miserably. He doesn't even know me, what am I talking about? It's not like we formally set up a time to meet up! I tapped my leg impatiently, tentatively watching the people that entered and exited the restaurant.

I didn't check the time again until it reached one o' clock and my hopes sank lower and lower. Just a few more minutes won't hurt, I retold myself as they continually ticked by. And slowly, thirteen minutes went by with no change. I was somewhat relieved, somewhat depressed. I felt silly, timid, like a pleasant wallflower that people overlooked. As I rose out of my seat, the cashier I had met a few days ago called out to me, his hands fiddled with his pockets. He must've read the distress on my face as he looked concerned.

"Hey, if you aren't busy, would you like to go out sometime?"

I smiled politely, "Uh…sure? That would be nice…" I responded halfheartedly. I didn't want to let him down. Wouldn't it seem kind of conceited, considering that I kind of got stood up? He scratched his brunette locks and cracked a half smile.

"Uh, cool. See you later, then?"

"Yeah," I nodded before departing.

The wind wiped through my hair, stinging my eyes and causing them to tear up. I wiped them away with my sleeve, "Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid!"

I twisted around, heading in the opposite direction of the dorms. I relaxed, taking in a deep breath of air and calmly following the current of the crowd as they passed by large shopping centers, with streams of people flowing in and out of them. Losing my thoughts, feelings, and myself in the ever-moving throng of the people, I wandered into the mall.

* * *

><p>The sky was dark when I trudged on back to my dorm. Clouds of air expelled from my mouth as I fought off the cold. My heels clacked loudly against the pavement, perhaps more noticeable from the absence of people along the streets. The city was lit beautifully. Signs used bright florescent neon colors to draw in late customers. The roads gradually grew more silent the further I walked. I grew extremely wary of my surroundings. Amongst the noise of distant cars, I could hear light footsteps fade in and out. A dark figure darted into the shadows and I immediately picked up my pace. I felt an eerie shadow trailing me as I wandered through the twisted maze of brick and pavement. My shoulders locked in place and my breathing was hasty and shallow. The faint sound of footsteps drew nearer and nearer causing my hair to stand on end.<p>

I panicked, breaking into a swift sprint and jolting around a corner, slamming into a man that quickly grabbed my arm once I recoiled. I let out a shrill scream, pulling my bag back and swinging wildly.

"Yo, chill out!" A familiar voice attempted to soothe. My eyes widened and my legs collapsed, fresh warm tears clouded my vision. "I hate it here! I fucking hate it here!" I shouted out of frustration between sobs, "I just want to go back home!" Moving a hand over my damp face, I glanced up at the man. He seemed broken-hearted, his brows drawn together and a prominent frown etched on his face. He shifted the large paper bag he carried to one arm and kneeled down, examining me through his lens.

"Hate it here? Why do you hate it?" He extended a dark gloved hand toward me. I composed myself before grabbing it and rising to my feet once again. My face was raw and torn, my throat dry and sore. I wiped away what I could with my sleeve and sniffled before I spoke, "I don't feel like talking about it," I spoke weakly, taking a few steps forward, now eager to get back to my dorm. I noticed that he kept up with me, his eyes affixed on me.

"That makes no sense! There's no reason to not love New York City!" He retorted. His eyes were fiercely set down on me. I swallowed, avoiding his gaze, and deflecting his previous comment.

"Y-You don't have to walk with me. I can make it from here." I spoke, meekly.

"Mm? It's not safe for a lady to go out walking by herself at this time alone, y'know?"

I glanced at him—bewildered, but comforted.

"I'll try to hurry, then. I don't want to hold you up or anything." I sped up, seeing that I was just a block away from the dorms.

"It's totally fine, b—wait! You didn't answer me earlier! Don't think that you're gonna get away with insulting this city without having someone show you around! You probably haven't even been to a Yankees game!"

I shrugged, pitifully shaking my head.

"You're insane! Look here, I'll do you a favor and save you total embarrassment by taking you to all of the great sites New York has to offer! I'll bet you money that you'll be so in love with this city, you won't even consider going back home!"

It seemed like 'no' was out of the question. Not that I minded, but his tenacity was something to definitely be admired. We had reached the concrete stairs that led up to the dorms. I fiddled with one of the fallen curls in my hair, a nervous habit. I cleared my throat before speaking, "Where would we meet tomorrow, then?"

"Ah," he tilted his head, glancing around the area, "Here, at noon."

"Alright," I nodded, "And also, I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Oh!" He blinked, "Alfred! Or just Al or whatever."

I paused, "I'm Emily, uh," I headed up the stairs, gazing back at him once I reached the door, "Thank for you earlier, uh, at the restaurant and just now. Walking me home,"

"No need to thank me," he shook his head and grinned, giving a thumbs up and pointing at himself, "It's just what a hero does."

* * *

><p>I laughed pathetically at my reflection once I got a good look at myself in a mirror. My curls had fallen and hung limp over my shoulders, my clothes were wrinkled, and my heels were dirty. I spent the entire morning primping only to have it this happen. But still, I replayed Al's words in my mind, at least not all of it was a waste. Without even checking the time, I jumped in the bed, burrowing my face in one of the pillows. No longer holding back, I let out the loudest joyful squeal I could.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I overslept that morning and tumbled out of bed, showering and throwing on a light pink dress, dark leggings, a pair of flats and a jacket. I combed over my hair and took a quick glance in the mirror before I headed out my room and through the building's front doors.

I caught my breath once I hit the crisp morning air, readjusting my clothes before I continued on. As I climbed down the steps, I took multiple glances in both directions, looking for Alfred. I tried to fight off a hard frown when I was unable to find him and I sighed, wondering if what happened the previous night was a dream. I took a step back, preparing to leave when I smacked into a tall figure behind me.

An all too familiar haughty laugh filled the air. Al looked down at me, his hands buried in his coat and blue eyes sparkling.

"You ready?" he beamed.

* * *

><p>Evening set in as we rested in Central Park on one of the sturdy wooden benches situated throughout the area. I studied the pigeons as they pecked the ground, following trails of breadcrumbs and other discarded food. Al sat next to me calling out loud the places we had visited and counting them on his fingers. He paused, briefly glancing up at the encroaching nightfall in deep thought.<p>

"Ah! I almost forgot! There's one more place!" He abruptly got to his feet, the pigeons fleeing and taking flight into the sky.

"What is it?" I tucked my hair behind my ear, curiosity laced my tone. I was pretty sure we had covered everything by now?

"Hurry, let's go!"

I hurried to my feet after he took off keeping close to him as we crossed through the park and reached the outer edges of the city that bordered the Hudson River. The lights of the city danced in the glistening water as we walked along the rails until a small island planted in the middle of the river could be seen. On top of the island stood a magnificent statue, lit beautifully with bright lights and her torch held high. A celebrated American symbol, of course he'd take me to see this. I stood on the side of the railing, trying to fit in the details of Lady Liberty's robe.

"Great, isn't it!" Al spoke, a proud grin on his face.

"Yeah," I nodded, inhaling the sharp winds that wiped through my hair. I turned my head away and gathered my hair; my eyes wandered over to Alfred, glancing over his features. There was an overwhelming aura of confidence emanating from the man, something I had always envied. But there was something else strange about him. I couldn't exactly express what it was in words. It felt like I was looking at someone who was inhuman or unreal—someone who was much more than they appeared to be. And here I am, a meek and timid girl struggling with a low self-esteem. I felt like a misfit. Like a commoner looking up to a celebrity. He was so energetic and loud—I started to grow fond of his fearlessness.

And fond of _him_.

My heart pounded at the thought—however hopeless it seemed. I had wondered, very frequently, how he felt during the day, never coming to a concise decision. There were no obvious signals, or maybe I read them all wrong? My throat tied in knots all the while.

"Emily?"

I felt almost as though I had been brought back to earth by the sound of my name being called. Alfred's face was melancholic. His sudden concern alarmed me.

"You don't talk a lot. Do you not like me?" It sounded like a childish question, but the sadness embedded in his voice nearly drew me to tears.

My eyebrows rose, "No!" I shook my head vehemently, "I mean, no, I like you! I mean," I sighed, calming down a bit, "I consider you a good friend, Alfred…"

His expression relaxed at the word 'friend'. He turned back towards the Statue, watching the reflections of the lights in the rushing water below the Lady Liberty. I shrugged.

"If it means anything to you, you're the first friend I've had in a long while. I have trouble getting to know people, since, you know, I'm so quiet…" I admitted, partially reminiscing on the years I spent locked in my room. I tugged at my jacket, still carrying mixed feelings about those times. Apparently what I said meant something to him, as his personality completely flipped.

"Are you serious? I'm really one of the first friends you've made?" His tone was somewhere between disbelief and excitement. It sounded more pitiful when put that way, but I agreed.

"Since I've been here, yes," I nodded, smiling softly.

"Dude, that's…I feel so special." There was a glint in his eyes. He balled his hands in tight fists, "I promise I won't let you down!"

He won't let me down? Meaning that he won't be a bad friend? I furrowed my brows, still smiling, "You know, it's not that bi—"

I stopped, suddenly realizing something. Making a new friend isn't that big of a deal, unless…My eyes flashed over his previous expression at the question he asked earlier, _'Do you not like me?'_

Unless...he didn't have friends before. That's why he was so worried. He must be so lonely, but…

What kind of person lives without making any friends? Especially someone like him! He seemed to easily carry conversations with people. I know I'm missing something here, but I'd rather not go poking into other people's past.

I pushed my speculation back for the moment and leaned on the rails, folding my arms over it.

"You don't need to make promises like that," I spoke, a gentle breeze blew past us, "I'm sure we'll be good friends for a long while."

* * *

><p>America's boss sat at his desk, legs crossed. The sunlight that poured in from the large paned window behind him cloaked him in a delicate shadow. America stood in front of him, in silence, his hands stuck in his coat and eyes shielded by the reflection of light on his lens.<p>

The boss chuckled, "No need to be so stern," he gave a momentary pause before continuing in his articulate voice, "though I already assume you know what I have called you for?"

"Not many other things you need me for, 'cept when to put me in place," America responded with a tinge of distaste.

The boss let out a low laugh and knitted his hands together, leaning forward, "I've done all I can to help you and you still can't come to trust me?"

America tilted his head, "It's not that, it's just, the people are still disappointed," he shrugged, "kinda rubs off, I guess."

The boss sighed. He was a gentle man, made weary by the public's demand.

"I am just as worried about your future as you are, which is why it somewhat pains me to give you this warning."

America waited. The boss took in a deep breath of air.

"I have no intentions of disturbing your personal affairs, but please, bear in mind that the next man that plans to take my position within the next few months will, likely, not be as understanding. I can temporarily call the CIA investigations off—the last thing I would want is a girl's life at stake, but others will see the girl as an exploitable weakness. They will pursue her, if it's happens to be in their favor or _dispose_ of her if she becomes an obstacle."

America clenched his jaw, still absorbing the boss's words. The warning stuck with him, even after he had departed from the Oval Office. He wouldn't, no—he couldn't let Emily get caught in all of this.

He vowed to protect her, as a hero should, _at all costs_.


	4. Chapter 4

I watched in awe as Alfred gobbled down a pile of burgers.

"You eat so much junk, how do you manage to keep off the weight?" I took a bite of my small sandwich and chewed it thoroughly before swallowing.

"Ah ono, ah ahways thaught it was 'cuz ah work out ah tun!" Al spoke with his mouth full, in between forcing more sandwiches down his throat. I raised an eyebrow as I tried to decipher his incomprehensible speech.

"Did I mention that the semester will be over soon? I'll be going back home for the summer."

Al gulped down the last burger and laughed, "Em, c'mon! You don't need to go back home, stay up here with me! What's there to go back home to, anyway?"

"To start with: my family. And secondly, I'll be back in New York right before the fall semester starts. We can always keep in contact during the summer!"

"Aw, laaaaaaaame." He frowned.

I giggled, covering my mouth with my hand. His scowl broke and his eyes widened questioningly.

"It's funny, Al, you're overreacting! I'm not going on some year-long voyage. If you really want to hang out over the summer, I'm sure my family can make some trips up here—unless you want to come visit me in Portland."

I blinked, putting some thought into that last suggestion. "Actually, I don't know how my family would take to me meeting up with a guy."

"Dude, no worries! I doubt your family would dislike a totally awesome guy, like me!" He grinned, giving his best 'hero' pose, winking.

I smiled and nodded, "Yeah, you're right!"

I finished the remaining pieces of my sandwich and exited the store, turning to Alfred once we made it through the door.

"I have to make a quick stop at the bookstore, if you don't mind. It won't take too long."

"Ah! I just remembered that I have something really important to take care of!" Al scratched the back of his head with a weak smirk. I narrowed my eyes at his response, "You just could've said 'no'."

He leaned back, resting both of his hands behind his head with a bent, almost painful smile, "No, I'm not kidding, Emily! You know I love spending time with you—ah," he stammered over the last word, letting out a broken laugh. I clasped my hands together behind my back and stepped towards him, imitating his movements as he moved back. He didn't have to speak to know that I knew something was wrong.

"Em, chill! I—"

I wrapped my arms around his waist and he paused, holding his hands out then placing them around my shoulders. I understood every word he wanted to say.

_"I don't want you to go, I'll miss you,"_

I closed my eyes and exhaled, speaking low enough for him to hear, "I'll miss you, too."

* * *

><p>A tiny bell rang when I opened the door to the crowded bookstore, barely catching the attention of the old man hunched over a stack of books with several of them opened, exposing their white pages.<p>

"Welcome," he greeted me in a monotone voice, finally twisting around to look at me. I waited quietly and waved. A fire ignited his spirits once his eyes looked over my face and he promptly re-introduced himself, "Emily, dear girl! So good to see you! How are your studies coming along?"

He brushed back his thin hair and set his hands on his thick waist.

"Good to see you too, Maurice! They're going along pretty well. I actually came to give you something as a 'thanks' for the books." I approached him, removing the gift certificate from my coat pocket.

"My dear, you are a saint! You just made an old geezer's day!" After a quick embrace, he examined the gift, his face falling in surprise, "My god, how were you able to afford this amount?"

I smiled politely, "It's just a fraction of what the books really cost."

"I can't thank you enough!" The old man smiled, pushing up his glasses.

"It's no problem." My eyes fell on the table crowded open books, all on certain points in history. Pictures were lined up next to the texts laying on top of sheets of paper that were outlined in a timeline.

"Ah, my research," Maurice glanced over his work, gathering the pictures and handing them to me, "I've stumbled upon something unusual, a reoccurring theme, if you will,"

I shuffled through a few pictures, gasping when I observed their details. In every photo there was a tall blonde man with familiar blue eyes dressed in different styles of clothes. Though he was never the main focus of the shoot, his distinctiveness couldn't have been mistaken for anyone else. _He looked just like Alfred!_ I forced the words out in a hushed tone, "They're all photos of the same man."

Maurice nodded, "And that's not all, I can't seem to find any official name or record of the man. It seems that he shows up more frequently from about 1780 onward, though his presence is a bit more obscure after World War II."

I turned the photos on their backs, reading the dates. 1783, 1812, 1861, 1917: all were prominent years in American history. I couldn't pry my eyes off of the uniformed man. How on earth would the same man be alive for over three hundred years? Maybe, I'm getting too ahead of myself. It could be Alfred's great grandfather; his family could've played an important role during those times, it seemed very plausible. But to look _exactly_ the same? I have to admit, that's pretty damn freaky! And in some pictures, he wasn't wearing his glasses…

"Emily, you look as pale as a ghost, have I spooked you that much?" Maurice remarked. I hesitantly handed him the photos, "I-I'm fine! It's just…he looks like someone I've seen before." I gritted my teeth, afraid to confess that I could possibly know the man.

"He's such an elusive being that I have to ponder if I've ever encountered the man personally!" Maurice folded his arms, rubbing his temple with a wrinkled hand.

"Yeah…" My voice trailed off. My mind still whirled with theories and ideas, like cogwheels turning rapidly. As respectfully as I could, I dismissed myself from the man's company, dragging on the thoughts as I trudged back to my room.

Is he immortal or just an old family member? I have to ask Al to clarify this. There's no other person that would know. I sighed deeply and extended my arms out, stretching and trying to push the thoughts to the back of my mind until I could see him again.

Before I had any coherent thought of what was happening, a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up along the sidewalk and two men clad in black suits wearing shades handled me, pressing a damp cloth over my mouth. I tried to scream and kick, but I felt my consciousness slipping. I fell into a deep blackness.


	5. Chapter 5

I came to in a brick cell, lying on a flat thin mattress. A single florescent light brightened the room in a sickly yellow shade that made the toilet and the walls look unclean. I sat up on the bed, checking my coat pockets. All of my possessions had been confiscated. I covered my hands with my face, resting my elbows on my legs, refusing to look at the cell. Why was I here? I haven't broken any laws—at least not consciously! What could I have possibly done to earn time in a prison?

Several footsteps echoed in the distance, gradually increasing in volume as they approached my cell. Al was the first to step into view past the metal bars. He gripped the bars tightly with both hands; his face was racked with worry.

"Alfred!" I rushed to meet him, reaching for him through the bars. He stepped back as another man, the warden, flipped through his keys and unlocked and pulled back the barred doors. I fell into his arms, burying my face in his chest. He was silent. His tightened grip around me relaxed.

"Emily, I'm so sorry," he muttered. My arms dropped and I stared at him in disbelief.

"Al…"

I couldn't even mouth the words. _It was…his fault?_

"What do you mean?" I asked. His silence fueled my fear. "Al!" I repeated louder, though not in a harsh tone.

"She still calls you by that dated name? You haven't told her?" A suited man with slicked back dark hair spoke. His arms were crossed neatly behind him, his face was collected and mostly smooth with a few prominent wrinkles from age. Two tall men clad in black suits stood on both sides of him. Al affixed his eyes on the floor below him. He didn't respond; he didn't move.

I felt like I no longer knew him.

_The pictures_, I told myself. _Ask about the photos!_

I bit my lip, a lump forming in my throat, "Al…_what_ are you?"

He looked to me with pained eyes, opening his mouth.

"He is America, an immortal manifestation of this country," The dark haired man folded his arms, casually flicking something off his nails. The explanation practically flew over my head. I held myself, struggling to grasp the concept. How does that even work? Does his body compose of the states? If he dies, what happens to the country? Can he die?

The questions were endless, and yet I had no voice to ask. All that I was certain of was that he wasn't Alfred. He wasn't the human I thought I knew. And judging by his silence, this was the first time an ordinary person had encountered that detail.

"With that truth being exposed, girl, are you still going to associate with him?" The man's voice was lofty and composed, but his eyes were sharp.

"He is a being nearly three centuries old. He's been around to see very poignant moments in this country's history—and that includes its _wars_."

America winced. The man's eyes flashed and he continued, "His hands have been soaked with the blood of humans numerous times. Don't you think it's just a matter of time before he thirsts again? That is why he needs control, so that citizens, like you, don't end up slaughtered in another civil war. Knowing that he is extremely unstable would you put yourself in danger, dangling in front of him like a toy? _Beckoning_ him?"

I gulped, considering the possibilities. I still couldn't comprehend the idea that an entire nation was standing right before me. Hundreds of years of one nation soaked into one living being, but I was never afraid of him. Even now, I can't bring myself to fear him. I stepped towards him and placed a hand on his warm cheek with an endearing smile. He covered my hand with his and leaned towards me, pressing his forehead against mine.

_Who you are will never change to me. The memories we share are ours alone. Though, now, we may be different, I've always wanted the courage to say that I—_

"This is a disappointment. After all, I had you captured to keep you safe." The man's mouth was a hard line, but his tone was dejected. His fierce eyes shot to America, "My goal was simply to catch your attention. The girl will remain under my party's watch as long as she remains within this country's borders. She can go free, but I will not hesitate to contain her again, if I see fit."

He turned his back on us, motioning for the men to follow him.

"I trust that you'll be on your best behavior."

America, without looking towards the man, waited until the footsteps could no longer be heard. He dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a cellphone and flipping it open, dialing a number quickly. The call had been answered, much to his relief.

"Hello, England…"

* * *

><p>America was reluctant to explain the functions of countries and how they came to be. Though I still didn't understand much of it, I was left to assume that, like him, a personification of every nation existed. I had gotten my belongings back, but I was told that I couldn't see or call my family to tell them where I was or where I was going. I felt frustrated, sullen, and helpless.<p>

The only thing I knew was that I was currently on a plane headed to London.

What kind of person was England? What did he look like? Given the history, I imagined him to be a prude man.

America wrapped his arm tightly around my waist. He had grown more quiet and tentative as the hours went by, constantly watching the bottomless ocean through the small window. I laid my head on his chest, tilting up slightly to look at him, suddenly aware that I was just inches from his face. His eyes met mine, darted away, and then slowly crept over my face, pausing at my eyes, my nose, my lips…

Conscious of my breathing, I held my breath and inched closer, causing him to do the same. Our lips pressed together in a hard, dry kiss and we both pulled back, dissatisfied with the feeling. Both of our faces burning, our lips met again and again, each kiss warmer and deeper than the last.

At this, the man seated next to us cleared his throat, breaking the last kiss. We silently laughed, embarrassed, but new to the feelings swirling in our minds.

* * *

><p>A gentle rain had began to fall in London as the passengers exited the plane and filled the airport, all dispersing to their own destinations.<p>

"Ah, England," America scanned the crowd for the man, spotting him and waving.

"England!"

I followed closely behind as we met up with a scraggly blonde haired man with thick brows and hazel eyes. He wasn't immediately pleased to greet his fellow nation.

"I'll have you know, I'm not a bloody babysitter. It was only on your persistent nagging that I agreed." He retorted sharply.

"Don't worry, Britain, I'll pay you back later for helping me out with this!"

England observed me with a firm stare then turned his back, "Get on with it."

America slid an arm around my waist and lightly brushed his hand against my cheek. With one last parting kiss, he let me go and left, marching back up to the plane. Unable to hold it in any longer, a few tears fell down my cheeks. My breathing was jagged.

England sighed, looking back at me and removing a handkerchief from his coat pocket, handing it to me. He waited as I patted the cloth on my damp cheeks.

"Emily, right? I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next few weeks."


End file.
